


Razor burns and other lingo

by TheArchaeologist



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Blood, Brotherly Bonding, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Bonding, Family Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Good Brother Diego Hargreeves, Good Brother Klaus Hargreeves, Good Brother Luther Hargreeves, Number Five | The Boy-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-16 03:10:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19309426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArchaeologist/pseuds/TheArchaeologist
Summary: In the apocalypse, beards were useful, because they protect the skin from the elements.At The Commission, beards were deadly, because your target could grab them and overpower you.When he returned home, Five was thirteen, and did not need to think about shaving his face.Now, Five is sixteen, and the stubble has returned.A.k.a. The Hargreeves men have a moment and Five just wants to be left in peace.





	Razor burns and other lingo

Shaving in the apocalypse was pointless.

It was hard to find decent razors for a start. The majority were blunt and useless, unable to make even a scratch against skin, and any others were rusty from years under the rubble and mortar.

Whenever Five _did_ try and use them, it always felt like a waste, a thousand different purposes running through his brain for the materials he was wasting, the resources that could be put to use elsewhere. Good sharp things were hard to come by and trying remove something that would only return in a matter of days felt unproductive.

Not that he ever had a mirror to shave with, or clean water.

There were some bonuses to having a beard. Winters were cold, desolate things, bleak and biting, and any kind of layer between the harsh winds and bare skin were welcomed with open arms. In a similar but totally opposite way, summers proved to be hot to the point of boiling, threatening to leave you dehydrated from sweating alone.

“You could take some of it off with your knife.” Dolores would suggest. “It must be uncomfortable.”

It was.

Unbelievably so.

However, it had to stay, and Five had no choice in the matter. For the forty-five years he was there, not once did he ever see a bottle of sunscreen. 

The Commission was a different story.

Beards, at the end of the day, are not the most practical of things to have on your face, especially when your job entailed eliminating targets. Most people object when you try and kill them, they fight, and scratch, and do everything they can to overpower you. While Five mostly worked with sniper rifles and long distance, occasionally there were the jobs that got messier, meaner, that involved close quarters and clawing hands. 

So, the beard went, using the standard, cheap razors supplied by his new employers and a stinging aftershave.

He kept the moustache, though, because although she did not come with him to The Commission, he knew Dolores liked it.

Then, Five achieved his goal and returned home, stopping the apocalypse in a roundabout ‘ _take one was a failure so we tried again_ ’ kind of way. This was not ideal, far from it, actually, but they got there eventually, and at long last he was able to _breathe_ again.

Being turned physically thirteen was not part of the plan.

In fact, it was the most humiliating thing he has been forced to deal with, and Five has had quite a few bad hands over the years. Form what he could see, there were relatively few positives that came with his impromptu age regression, and in a twisted mockery of his life, a trained assassin was suddenly forced to deal with adults patronising him, brushing his words and threats off as simple juvenile delinquency, pushing him towards his siblings if they felt that he needed minding.

If it was not for the fact that he would get child protective services on his case, Five would have been more than willing to give every asshole they came across a piece of his mind.

He did not need to shave, though. The skin of a thirteen-year-old is baby soft.

In a way that could make him nauseous if he pondered it for too long, Five loathed it. The skin was out of place, it did not belong anywhere near him. He is anything _but_ soft and youthful, the blood on his hands spilling from hundreds of innocent and not-so-innocent victims and his crimes against humanity terrible, and to appear so childlike, so _innocent_ , was a joke to what Five really is and was.

Since then, time has passed, and everyone has grown up and moved on from the week that nearly happened.

Five is physically sixteen and staring into the mirror.

In a slightly strange way, this is the first time Five has ever seen himself at this age. Apart from the moments when he would inspect collected pools of water to see if it was anywhere near drinkable, he never had the chance to see his reflection as he grew older, and for years he remained that scrawny thirteen-year-old in his minds eye. In reality, of course, he knew that was impossible. Five outgrew his academy uniform within a year, and he could hear the way his voice changed as he talked to Dolores.

However, that first night in his new accommodation at The Commission, that moment when he was suddenly surrounded by solid walls and living, breathing people, had been an exercise at relearning his own face, using the sharp, defined detail of the water-run bathroom mirror under a flickering florescent light.

He had never known about his wrinkles, or the sunspots from years outside. He had not been able to remember what the colour of his eyes looked like, if they were baby blue or sea green or storm grey, and the only time he ever saw his hair was when it blew in his face as the wind picked up.

That moment was not dissimilar to what he is doing now.

At sixteen, Five has definitely lost some of that ‘wild child who could kill you’ look, his face maturing into something more relevant to the young adult he now is. His nose is sharper and his jawline is in the middle of squaring into something that will fit an adult, and despite all this being unsurprising considering he already knows what to expect as he grows, it is still an odd experience to see his features in their infancy of turning adult.

There is also a little extra.

He has stubble, just tickling the surface of his skin. It is uncomfortable, noticeable, similar to when you get a scab you keep accidentally knocking, and after trying to ignore it all day, Five has had enough and retreated to the bathroom.

The thought of asking Mom to get him some shaving foam makes him uncomfortable in a way he does not want to analyse, so Five simply nicks some of Luther’s, the black bottle sitting on the side of the sink. At The Commission Five used an electric razor, battery powered for the jobs so far back in history the idea of a plug socket would be considered witchcraft, but he has not been able to find one in the mansion, so he has simply selected a new razor from the pack instead.

Despite having his preferences, he is not unfamiliar with the process of a wet shave.

Plugging the sink, Five turns on the tap and waits, watching the clean water slowly fill the basin. A pleasant wave of heat rises up, warm against his skin, and turning it off Five leans over and scoops up a handful, washing it over his chin and up his cheeks.

Drying his hands on a towel, Five reaches for Luther’s foam and squirts some into his hands. The sharp tangy scent of nothing fills the air, the strange muted mint colour odd on his palm.

Klaus has never got to grips with the idea of privacy.

The knock on the door only gives Five enough time to startle before it is swinging open, his lanky brother waltzing in with a breeze that states he does not have a care in the world.

“Hey, Five, have you-” Klaus freezes, his mouth snapping shut as his eyes dart from the foam to Five’s face, and then back again.

There are times when herding his siblings is like trying to force treacle through a sieve, slow and arduous and a chore Five hates with every inch of his being.

There are also times, however, when they are also frustratingly quick on the money.

His brother gasps, a soft, delighted smile stretching his face. “Oh my God-”

“Klaus, fuck off.”

“Are you _shaving?”_ Moving towards him, Klaus reaches to feel along Five’s cheek. His mouth widens at the bristles below his fingers. “Aw, you’ve got a baby beard!”

He bats Klaus away with his foam free hand. “Say that again and I will slice your throat open with the nail cutters.”

“Ben, he’s got a _baby beard!”_ Completely ignoring him, Klaus turns towards an empty spot in the bathroom, both hands clasping over his heart. “Our little Fivey is growing up.”

Gritting his teeth, Five shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath, counting to ten in his head as Klaus takes part in a one-sided conversation with their deceased brother. Once he has fully counted, Five sets his jaw and gives Klaus the cold shoulder, applying the foam to his face. From years of experience, he has learnt that the best way to be rid of a clingy Klaus is to ignore him until he gets bored or something else distracts him. Historically, he would wait for Klaus to get high as well, but that is not an option anymore.

This is what he _thinks_ is happening when Klaus moves towards the door, and thank God, because the last thing he needs is a running commentary as he drags a razor blade over his skin.

However, Five is wrong, very, unfortunately, wrong.

“Diego!” Klaus hollers, hanging off the doorframe. “Luther! You’ll want to see this!”

“ _Klaus_.” His tone is low and dangerous, his tight-lipped glare enough to make the toughest of men wither. “ _Don’t_.”

Footsteps echo along the corridors, one set light, the other heavy, and Five’s body braces as if waiting for an impact as Klaus steps aside to allow their brothers to peer into the room.

Diego’s face lights up. “Woah! You shaving?”

“No, I’m sticking my head in the oven.” Five deadpans, eyes narrow as he leans away from Diego as he steps closer to inspect Five’s face. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

Klaus returns the room, leaving Luther hovering in the doorway because that is the only place he can really fit. Slipping by Diego, Klaus swings an arm around Five’s shoulders, jostling him and tugging Five against his side.

“Look at him, entering manhood.”

“I’m _older_ than you.”

“Do you, um…” Luther makes an aborted gesture towards his own face. “Do you-”

Five cuts him off, biting out, “Ask me if I know how, and I’ll make sure you don’t have a face to shave.”

“He’s already threatened me with nail clippers.” Klaus states proudly, happily accepting Five pushing him away. “Don’t you love it when he’s violent?”

“Hey, should you really be using this stuff?” Gesturing towards the sink and razor, Diego’s face takes on the infuriating concerned Big Brother look Five as grown to hate. Out of all of them, Five is the one to be on the receiving end of this the most, second only to Vanya. “An electric shave is easier. The store might-”

Washing the foam off his hands in the water, Five growls, “I know what I’m doing.”

Luther regards him with thought. “Did you shave in the apocalypse?”

“No, actually.” Glancing in the mirror, he checks his face is suitable covered. “I had a beard.”

Klaus makes some kind of snorting noise, while Diego’s eyebrows practically meet the roof. 

“You?” The disbelief in Diego’s voice is almost enough to make Five want to punch him. “ _You_ had a beard?”

He fixes him with a know-it-all smile. “You try finding razors in a world on fire.”

“Was it like, a goatee beard,” Klaus gestures towards himself, and then spreads his hands wide. “Or was it more wild man of the apocalypse?”

“Call me that again, I dare you.” Picking up his razor, Five turns his back to them all.

Diego makes a noise. “Holy shit, it was, wasn’t it? You had a huge ass beard. What’d you do, keep stuff in it?”

“Leave off.” Luther chastises, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe. “Beards aren’t all that bad.”

All heads, including Five’s, swivel round to stare at Luther, who immediately swallows and does his best not to seem uncomfortable under the sudden scrutiny of half his family. He fails.

“How would you know, Number One?” Klaus hums, a sly smirk on his lips. “Unless-”

“Fine, yes, I had a beard.” Huffing, Luther glances away as Diego snickers, a shit-eating grin on his face. He shrugs. “It was just me up there, so I didn’t see much point in keep myself tidy. Anyway, Dad-” Abruptly halting, Luther attempts to redirect his words. “Five, do you-”

Diego does not let him get away with it. “Dad _what?”_

Shaking his head, Five wets the razor in the water and brings it up to his cheek.

“Yeah, c’mon, big guy.” Light-heartedly punching Luther’s arm, Klaus pesters, “What type of trauma has Dad done this time? Emotional? Psychological?”

Sighing, Luther shifts on his feet, his arms still crossed. “Occasionally he would forget to send things up, or not send enough. I think I got shaving stuff about twice?” He pauses as he thinks. “No, three times. After a while I got sick of trying to make everything last, so I gave up. I was more bugged about him not sending enough food, to be honest.”

 _That_ gets a reaction from everyone.

“He wouldn’t send enough _food?”_

“That fucking bastard!”

“Jesus, Luther, keep the good stuff to yourself, why don’t you?”

Waving a hand, Luther tries to reel back the situation. “It was fine, I was fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“And this is the man you wanted to defend?” Diego says, in a way that everyone knows will rile Luther.

“Look, I’m not saying it was a _good_ -”

“No kidding!”

Five silently returns to his shave.

“I dunno, I just got used to it.”

“How used to it? How much did he send you?”

“Diego-” Klaus tries to cut in.

“No, no, I want to know. After sending you to the moon, how often did Dad give you enough supplies to _live?”_

“Um, well, uh…” Luther splutters intelligently, and Five is in no doubts that Luther’s mind is currently doing a one-eighty from the rising defensive to suddenly dealing with being slapped by Diego’s unique brand of protectiveness.  


Five decides to show Luther a little mercy.

“Leave him alone, Diego, if he doesn’t want to talk about it, then we won’t.”

Diego’s turns to face him, his mouth open with a rebuttal of some kind, only to yelp, “Woah, hey, easy with that!”

Ignoring the hovering hands that raise up to his face, Five continues slowly working off the foam and stubble, Klaus and Luther moving about in the corner of his vision to helicopter parent over him. Ben probably shifts too, out of sight, because apparently it is ‘ _Everyone Crowd Five as he Tries to Shave_ ’ day.

“Getting a little close, aren’t you buddy?” Klaus asks.

“Not in the slightest.”

Luther adds. “Don’t cut yourself, Five.”

“Gee, and that was exactly what I intended to do.”

Klaus makes a cooing noise. “Aw, look at this. His first shave.”

Scoffing, Five washing the razor in the water and brings it back up. “Hardly.”

“I thought you had a beard?” Diego regards him, leaning his weight on one leg and eyeing Five’s technique with a laser focus. It is somewhat unnerving.

“I did, in the apocalypse. Took it off for The Commission.”

“Huh.”

For a single blissful second, the room is silent, nothing but the quiet scraping of Five’s razor and the dripping of the tap. It is exactly what Five wanted, a nice moment to simply deal with his face without fuss or bother.

Luther ruins it by asking, with a contemplative expression, “Who taught you?”

Five blinks, not pausing in his work but glancing towards him. “What?”

“Who taught you?” Luther repeats, adding, as if it was not obvious, “To shave.”

Slightly lost as to what this has to do with anything, Five angles his head to stare at him, his razor still hovering in the air. Slowly his eyes drag between his brothers, his skin starting to prickle at the waft of mournful concern gradually starting to agitate each in turn, drifting around the room like a smothering miasma. The longer his silence drags out, the more uncomfortable his brothers seem to become, glancing at one another with the same knowing, pitying expression.

“I…No one?” Five is at the stage where his voice is still cracking a little, which is exactly what it does on the ‘one’, making his answer sound more pathetic than intended.

“Oh, _ow_ , that’s really sad.” Scrunching his face up, Klaus glances towards Luther.

“Dad taught me.” Luther says, his voice softer, almost gentle in a way that is sickening. He indicates towards Diego. “Then we both fumbled through it one night.”

Diego nods. “I remember, we missed tons and Mom had to clean us up. Then I taught Klaus.”

“But you had to learn all by yourself.” The look Klaus fixes him with makes Five pause mid-shave. 

“It’s not a big deal, guys, I wasn’t a baby.” He reassures, emphasising, “I was in my _fifties_.”

Diego shakes his head. “Still, one of us should have been there to help you.”

“I worked it out, I was fine.” Five peers around Diego towards Luther, hoping he will return some of the mercy he offered earlier, but instead he meets a sad, reflective face. He swallows, and continues, “As you can see, I know what I’m doing.”

Klaus claps his hands, making them all jump. “New idea courtesy of Ben, we should do Five’s first shave!”

Five blanks. _“What?”_

“Yeah, yeah, ok.” Diego nods, growing with enthusiasm. He holds out his hand. “Pass the razor.”

Klaus frowns. “Why should you shave him?”

“Because I’m the best with sharp objects?”

“Good point.”

Five bristles. “I’ve _got it_.”

“Do you have any aftershave, Five?” Luther asks, glancing the sink over. “I think I’ve got some. I’ll go get it.”

“For fuck’s-”

“Sit down, brother-o-mine!” Klaus pushes Five’s shoulders until he staggers back against the edge of the bathtub, sitting down unceremoniously with a thump. “Let’s get you foamed up again, we can’t have you lopsided.”

“I’m over halfway done!”

“What kind of look are you going for?” Diego teases, holding the razor about like an overenthusiastic barber. “A little off the top?”

“I don’t want a _look!”_

“Nonsense.” Klaus waves. “Take a leaf out of your big bro’s books. What do you want? A tash, a-la-Diego style, or something more refined, like moi?”

“I hate all of you.”

 

When the girls find them half an hour later, they discover not only has Five received the closest shave of his goddamn life, both in the literal sense and the figurative, Diego nearly sliced my jugular open, kind of way, but his brothers are now ridiculously deep into discussion on the importance of skincare and finding the right brand of aftershave.

 _Old Spice_ , according to Luther.

Some celebrity line, according to Diego.

Klaus just hums a tune, stood in the bathtub with Five still perched on the edge, and continues vigorously towelling Five’s hair to remove the shaving foam that somehow got messed amongst the dark locks.

The smirks they send Five make him glower.

**Author's Note:**

> See, I can write something light and fluffy. Mostly. Also I've wrote 'shave' so many times it no longer feels like a word.
> 
>  
> 
> [Tumblr](https://ancientstone.tumblr.com/)


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